


At University

by Celandine



Series: Dakin/Irwin [6]
Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: Ficlet, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-28
Updated: 2007-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are tutors, and then there are tutors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At University

"You've not heard a word I said, have you?"

Dakin starts and shakes his head. He vaguely recalls that Hall has been asking what he meant in the essay when he described Bismarck's network of alliances, but he has no answer to give.

His tutor pushes the crumpled pages of the essay back to Dakin. "Rewrite it. I'll see you next week."

Next week is both too soon and too distant. It's nearly five o'clock. Hall can't possibly be seeing another student this afternoon, Dakin decides, and says, "We could have a drink?"

Hall's eyes widen fractionally and they flick up and down Dakin's body. He's seen that look before, the watchful hungry one. Seen it in Hall's eyes, and seen it before that, too. He pushes the memory aside.

"If you have a better offer, then no worries," he says, deliberately casual, but he steps around the table to put his hand on Hall's shoulder. It's a risk, but Hall makes no effort to shake him off.

"Write me an outstanding essay," Hall says.

It's a challenge, and Dakin recognises it; he nods and leaves. He spends that week rewriting. Till now he's been using the tried and true techniques that Totty taught them for years, the safe careful recitation of facts all in their proper order. Now he turns his major assumptions all on their heads, finding that new patterns spring to life as he does so.

It's a game, that's what it is, and Dakin is determined not to lose this time.

He sprawls in the ugly chair, watching Hall turn the pages. A raised eyebrow is the only change in Hall's expression as he reads.

"Who taught you to write like this?" Hall asks when he has finished.

"Bloke who taught us my last term in school," says Dakin.

"You need to tighten your argument, but this is good." Hall nods to underline the point, his finger tapping on the rustling pages.

Dakin controls his grin, represses it into a knowing smile that is just shy of a smirk. "Fancy that drink, then?" He licks his lips.

"Where?"

That's the real question, even if Hall doesn't know it yet.

"Your digs? I just happen to have a bottle of whisky, bought it this afternoon." He'd spent more on it than he probably should have done, too.

"All right," says Hall.

They go to Hall's bedsit and drink from orange juice glasses. By eight o'clock, with no dinner, they're both quite drunk. Dakin's bottle is gone and they have started in on one that Hall had in his cupboard. Hall's arm has been slung around Dakin's shoulders for the last two drinks, as they talked with owlish seriousness about the balance of power in the nineteenth century. Hall keeps pushing Dakin to explain his ideas, to clarify them, to justify his analysis with evidence, and suddenly Dakin turns his head and shuts him up by kissing him.

When the kiss ends, he says, "Do you want to suck me?" Or at least, that's what he means to say, only he's drunk enough that he fumbles the words, says "fuck" instead of "suck" -- or perhaps that was what he meant all along?

Hall looks at him, hard, and Dakin nods and starts to unbutton his shirt. Hall says in a voice rusty with drink, "I'll do that."

A bit later, Dakin gasps when Hall's cock thrusts into him. Hall has not asked if Dakin has any prior experience, but he's used plenty of lube, so the unexpected stretch is not too painful. Then Hall shifts, and the discomfort is blotted out by sparks that race in fiery waves along his nerves. He groans and pushes back, wanting more, and Hall obliges him. Drunk as they are, it is a long and rather fumbling fuck, but Dakin has no complaints. When Hall jerks him to orgasm he has to bite back the "Sir" that tries to tumble from his lips, changing it to a gasping "yes" instead.

He is grateful at the end of that night for the bus that takes him back to his own room, sore and satiated as he is. The whole experience, though, frightens him in a way that he can't explain. When Hall asks at their next meeting if Dakin wants to stop by again, Dakin shakes his head.

Dakin doesn't return to writing the safe dull essays, though, and when he earns his degree it's a first. He tries not to remember where he learned the sophistries that bring him praise, but he puts them to use when he goes into law.  



End file.
